I was working in the garden the other day, dirty, hot, sweaty, and filled with aches that left me no doubt that I was approaching 60.
I sat under the shade of the apple tree, bag of weeds next to me, surrounded by the sound of the fountain, the twittering of birds and the sight of Milo stretched out in front of me.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude, filled with an almost inexpressible sense of joy.
I looked at Henry, who was keeping me company in a chair nearby and said, “I love my garden. I love it so much.”
He smiled at me, eyes filled with amusement and a little tenderness.
He knew.
This garden is filled with love.
‘The garden reconciles human art and wild nature, hard work and deep pleasure, spiritual practice and the material world. It is a magical place because it is not divided.’ Thomas Moore
